


time will tell, she'll see us through

by coastcitytourism



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, dumb boys dont know how to properly express their feelings, its not that angsty, they just gotta talk out their problems
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-19 00:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20200885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coastcitytourism/pseuds/coastcitytourism
Summary: "Every part of his body has long been accustomed to racing, including his mind and his heart- which work in combination to make his restlessness that much worse."or, a fix-it fic.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> whooo boy!! i wrote this all at 2 in the morning after procrastinating stuff and watching F1 videos all day!! so its a bit rough for sure...also i have it all planned and mostly all written but i think breaking it up will make it easier to read.  
gasly is just slightly mentioned just bc....he there  
uhh characterizations might be a bit off, im still learning my way around and I also wanted to include a lil Introspection for the two so it wont be exactly perfect. promise im working on it!  
timeframe is not 100% but its written with 2019 summer break in mind  
as always, this is a work of fiction, please do not post w/o permission, blah blah blah  
title is from gregory alen isakov song.

Monaco's multicolored lights twinkle through the filtery curtains covering the largest window in Max's flat, partially lighting up the room even now, long after the sun has gone under the horizon for the night. There's a certain kind of beauty to the city, where the love of modernity and classical taste can meet and make love and create an atmosphere that Max doesn't think he's ever seen in any other city. Even in the States, where the cities and highways are larger than some European countries, the life blood flowing through those cities is cold and brutal. Monaco is all warmth and sunlight and gorgeous scenery, and normally Max would harbor a deep set appreciation for it.

But not right now. Right now, Max lays on the living room couch in a rather lopsided manner, blanket carelessly tangled in his legs and something recently released and forgettable droning on the TV in the background. Max's defense argument is that his bed- a very fancy one that his physio had recommended, with all the silly adjustable controls and a 4 figure price tag- was just too damn hot to sleep in, and surely the couch in a part of the apartment cooled by the same air conditioning system would be slightly less warm. 

Even internally, Max has to admit that it's a weak excuse.

But tonight he couldn't bear to be in bed alone without another soul around- even in his relatively small flat, the silence was deafening.

So. It brought him closer to the window and the nightlife hustle of Monaco below him, and also whatever garbage Netflix has decided their entire viewership must watch these days.

It doesn't matter to him anyway, the stupid Netflix shows, he wasn't watching them, only attempting to fill the flat with a different sound than his own breathing.

Every part of his body has long been accustomed to racing, including his mind and his heart- which work in combination to make his restlessness that much worse. He considers texting some of his old friends back home, his thumbs ghosting over his phonebook in search of someone who might be awake at the moment and-

_Daniel_. Actually, Dan with Australian flag and yellow heart emojis next to his name. 

The name makes Max's head spin even worse. It wasn't exactly on bad terms, their breakup and Daniel's departure- neither could deny that the love was still there, still tugging at them both, but for now their careers had to take them down separate paths.

Daniel had been careful in emphasizing the _for now_, implicating the future, ensuring that Max knew exactly how loved he was and that it wasn't the end of the love.

It was all gentle and kind and full of promise, Max thinks, but it didn't stop him from getting so drunk he had to call Pierre to come make sure he didn't pass out and die. The poor Frenchman had barely been promoted to Max's teammate and still came and held the young Dutch while he sobbed and almost gave himself alcohol poisoning.

Not Max's proudest moment, for sure.

But here he is now, thumbs hesitating on Daniel's name for a brief second longer than he had given everyone else in the contact log. He's not even sure that Daniel would answer- sure, they'd been cordial and friendly out in public more than once since Daniel left, and even talked sometimes when neither race weekend would go right, but most of those instances hold distinctive differences from a "you up?"

Unfortunately for Max, his hands have long been better at coordinating and completing an action than his brain, so the message is typed and sent out before Netflix can even ask if Max is still watching.

>hey

Max wants to bang his head into a wall. A midnight text sent to his ex-teammate, best friend, ex- everything he realizes, and all he can manage is a fucking hey? The head banging must wait, however, because there are three little dots and _oh my God_, Daniel has already responded.

>Hey Max! What's up? Everything alright m8?

Max scoffs. Of course Daniel would use the abbreviated form of mate alongside otherwise perfect grammar. 

He sits, thinking and typing and deleting for at least 5 minutes before becoming suddenly self aware of how Daniel must be seeing those 3 dots hop up and down in quick succession. _Fuck_, he thinks, erasing whatever bullshit excuse he's typed up in an effort to be subtle, he's never been this nervous talking to Daniel before.

>oh no I'm fine, what about you? are you in monaco right now?

He doesn't even have a second to overthink his message before Daniel responds.

>I've been pretty solid!

>Yeah, I'm here for the next three days, then back to Perth. Ready to get rid of this damn jet lag. 

>Why're you asking, tho? Everything okay max??

It both alarms and satisfies the younger Dutch that he's so familiar with Daniel that even he can decipher the change in his texting style. _Screw subtlety_ he thinks, _it's not as if Daniel hasn't seen all of the worst parts of him both figuratively and literally before_.

>I'm okay! just tired. can't sleep for shit, same on the jet lag.

>its also odd being the only one around. no teammates or anything. weird to be in silence

Max wants to throw his phone off the balcony, he's so stupid with social cues and oversharing and-

His phone buzzes. Damn, Daniel answers fast.

>Ohhh. Me too.

There's a pause in Daniel's normal reply rhythm, then another double text.

>do you want to go do something? Not helping either of us fall asleep just lazing around on our phones

> I know a great place outside the city for some late night grub. Even have a company car this weekend so I could pick you up if you want

Max's eyes read the text, not quite processing it because it seems like his has decides to only broadcast the thump, thump of his heart in his ears. They read it again and again, and finally the words make sense in context and he's gained enough composure to answer.

>for all you know I could be at a club right now dancing with some super hot girls

>but actually yes. I'd like that

And he would. Sometimes the feeling of emptiness left behind where Daniel used to be in his life overwhelms Max, and he's left counting to ten, twenty, thirty trying to steady his breath and the shaking of his legs. It usually happens when he's alone, but there's still this sense of dread deep inside of him that it's gonna happen during a race and he's gonna have to explain to the team why he's-

>As if you could ever get the hot girls, Maxie. That was never your forte. They all want a piece of this Aussie

Max cannot stop his eyes from rolling, but it's almost relieving that Daniel still hams it up like good old times.

>as if 

He waits a moment, then sends another

>ETA?

It doesn't take Daniel but a minute to respond.

>Be there in 20 minutes. Best be ready by then, Verstappen.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "But seeing Max happy now- smiling and acting human and not like the entire world revolved around his qualifying position- makes Daniel feel a whole lot better about it all. It almost feels like coming home, he thinks, being able to laugh and joke and just enjoy his time with him"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooo boy chapter 2  
pretty happy chapter! next one will be Angsty so be prepared, but it will have a happy ending!!  
also I've tried very hard to give them multifaceted, complex personalities...but sometimes that means that I word vomit entirely separate anecdotes that make it harder to reach. for that i am very sorry!!  
this is entirely unedited and not proofread...so i am sorry for that too <3  
thank you for all the kudos last chapter! and I am always open for feedback and constructive criticism on my messy nonsense

The drive from Daniel's is quite pleasant, or at least he thinks that. The roads in Monaco are winding and glorious- even a large family car with no sporting pretentions could find curves to grip in along the pavement, most of which is significantly older than Daniel, and even those that don't enjoy the drive have many a scenic opportunity around them.

The radio plays softly, a top 40s station with a DJ speaking French so fast Daniel can't even begin to comprehend it. It melds together well with the gentle crunch of leaves and gravel under the car's tires and the rhythmic tap-tap tap-tap of his blinker. Sometimes Daniel feels so unbelievably grateful to be living a life where he gets to split his free time between the sinuous roads of Monaco and the neverending horizon of Australia, doesn't know how he got lucky as to live out his dreams in a setting straight out of a movie.

The drive to Max's comes and goes quick, the company car Renault provided this week happily soaking up the highway miles and the switchbacks that make up the landscape. He parks it in the street, punches the lock on the keyfob twice 'til he hears the telltale beep, and begins his amble into the building that houses Max's flat, waiting to be buzzed up.

Maybe it's simply due to the star filled nature of Monaco, or maybe its because he's completely ditched all of the sponsored clothing that normally adorns his body, but nobody in the building seems to notice or care that he is Daniel Ricciardo and he is asking to be buzzed into a certain Max Verstappen's apartment. It actually feels nice, being so achingly normal that you're treated as a security threat rather than a super star. Daniel thinks he could grow used to it.

He's snapped out of his own thoughts by Max's raspy voice, accent sounding slightly more prominent than normal, inviting him up, and a grin from the woman behind the desk as she ushers him to the elevator with one hand. He flashes her a smile, and although it feels a bit fake to him, a wave of the fingers signifies it's obviously enough to satisfy her.

Daniel couldn't forget the number of Max's apartment even if he tried, couldn't forget its exact location in the hall, could probably even approximate its scent to a fancy cologne if he was asked to, brain squeezing itself trying to remember the name but-

No. That's weird to even consider, he thinks. He and Max have been out of the same team, their...relationship...thing for far too long for Daniel to continue to remember the name of his cologne.

His knuckles hover against the grain of the wooden door for a split second, brain momentarily second guessing the decision, but he has no time to chicken out of knocking it because the door is swinging open and there's Max and-

Okay. Wow. The younger driver has also gone for a toned down look, free from all the sponsorship emblems and flourescent colours. He's dressed in a pair of jeans and a flannel, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A tiny cord bracelet stands in stark contrast to Max's pale skin and once again Daniel is struck by...the normalcy of it all. Max mostly just looks like any other young man his age, save for his eyes- shining with mirth in the faint light of the corridor, their youth betrayed by the bags and lines around them that make Max look, at least in Daniel's opinion, quite frankly exhausted.

Daniel figures he's been staring at Max for at least a minute or more too long, but Max simply smirks up at him as he steps into the corridor and greets him with a soft "hey asshole", before turning to lock his door behind him. Daniel breathes out a sigh of relief he didn't know he was holding in at Max's ignorance of his calculating stare, and he nudges Max in the ass with his knee.

"What's up, loser? Heard you called a taxi?" he jokes, trying as hard as he can to keep his voice quiet as to not wake Max's neighbors.

The younger Dutchman spins around on a foot, pushes Daniel out of his way, laughs out a reply.

"Yeah, no wonder you wear black and yellow now!" Max fumbles with the elevator controls and his keys for a second, snorting at his own quip, and Daniel can only look on at Max and try to suppress the grin growing on his face in response to Max's evident happiness.

It's not like he wasn't aware that leaving Red Bull and Max wouldn't mess them both up, but it wasn't hard to think that Max would just throw himself into something else with his whole heart, just like he always did when anything else hurt him. As terrible of a coping mechanism as it was, it at least kept him from complete self destruction- something Daniel often worried about with the Dutch man's ever-increasing recklessness in track. Daniel himself had quarantned himself back home in Perth with friends and family and maintained his public appearances, and while it left a dull ache in his chest, he can admit that he returned to a baseline of emotion in what was probably record time. 

However, Daniel wasn't spared of the wrath of a certain Pierre Gasly, that damn narc, who caught him after a day of free practice and described in rather unfortunate detail (and between muttered French curses, of course) the situation that had befallen Max Verstappen because of Daniel's own selfishness. Daniel didn't hate Gasly for it- in fact, he liked to think he'd be as good of a friend as Pierre- but he sort of hated himself for knowing that he had such a negative impact on Max's life. The young Dutch driver was a ray of talent and opportunity- and Daniel didn't think it suited him well to be bothered by something as small as their tumultous relationship. Certainly it hadn't changed his concentration- in fact, it seemed as if Max had been pushed further into cold and calculating than ever before on track, enjoying the run for the points more than the race itself, and while it startled Daniel to see Max growing more robotic and clinical, he couldn't deny Max's ambition. 

But seeing Max happy now- smiling and acting human and not like the entire world revolved around his qualifying position- makes Daniel feel a whole lot better about it all. It almost feels like coming home, he thinks, being able to laugh and joke and just enjoy his time with Max.

They step into the elevator, Daniel following Max, who haphazardly smacks the button for ground floor and looks back at Daniel, perfectly catching Daniel grabbing the railing in a very brief moment of panic as the floor lurches below them, and smirks in a very self satisfying way. Daniel sort of thinks that he wouldn't mind kissing that stupid smirk off Max's stupid smug face, but his train of thought is derailed by Max laughing at him.

"Oh my God, Daniel," he wheezes, "you drive a Formula One car and yet a lift scares you?"

Daniel feels his face burn in slight embarrassment, and he lets go of the railing to gently smack Max in the shoulder.

"Don't think that I've forgotten your deadly fear of spiders, Verstappen," Daniel says gravely, crossing his arms in front of his body and wiggling his eyebrows at the other man. Max gives him a fake angry scowl, opens his mouth to talk, and-

Beep.

The lift touches down and the doors slide open. Daniel saunters through the lobby, digging in his pockets for the car keys, just paying enough attention to Max to hear him mutter something along the lines of "well some spiders can kill you" and a phrase in Dutch that mostly just sounds like confused German to Daniel. His feet hit the sidewalk and the outside first and he shivers slightly in the crisp nighttime air- Monaco is so different than back at home, his real home outside Perth, where even at night its not unusual to see thirty degree temps. Max doesn't seem to notice or care- he pulls out his phone to answer a text, not really paying attention to the world around him until Daniel double presses the key fob and the loaner cars lets off a tinny honk, startling Max back into reality. He looks between the car and Daniel incredulously, face breaking into a shit eating grin, and the Aussie just leans against the boot.

"They..." Max starts, and Daniel stares at him as if to encourage him to go on, "They gave you a fucking Megane?" He can't keep himself from laughing at the little blue hatchback in front of him, which Daniel is leaning against possesively. It's a silly contrast, seeing such a talented driver of some of the most complex and expensive cars ever made juxtaposed with such a normal and common family car. 

Daniel's not hurt, not really, but he feigns offense rather well-

"Of course they gave me a Megane. It's Renault's bread and butter!" He caresses the taillight of the car lovingly, which elicits a snort from Max, "And it's a diesel, it gets great gas mileage. Don't be jealous just because you're stuck driving an Aston!"

And wow, Max cannot contain his laughter, because here is Daniel Ricciardo defending the merits of a French compact car against Max's own V12 having DB11. Before he knows it, there are actual tears pricking his eyes, and Daniel is staring daggers into his skin, but he cannot will himself to stop laughing. He gasps for a moment, struggling to take in a breath, looks Daniel in the eye and manages to stutter-

"They- they couldn't manage to give you a yellow one? Maybe a Megane RS? Or even a nice Clio? You're driving a diesel?" He pauses, snorts once again, mutters own "God Daniel, you're like someone's mom!"

Daniel rolls his eyes at the Dutch, who is clutching his own stomach and attempting to catch his breath from the three-minute long humiliation he decided to give Daniel's poor little car. Maybe it's not the car that Aston had given him before but...the Megane had her little quirks. Daniel was actually rather fond of the thing.

"Shut the fuck up. We aren't all trying to compensate for a lack of something," he retorts, and gets a pointed glare (albeit with no real heat in it) from the younger man. "Get in the fucking car before I leave you here!" 

Max obliges, but not before running his hand over the diamond shaped badge on the back of the car and having a final chuckle. He somehow manages to hold in his laughter when Daniel shoves the key into the ignition and the tiny diesel engine in front of them comes to life with a small grunt, escaping further dirty looks from the Aussie next to him. Daniel keys up one of his many Spotify playlists (most of which Max thinks are garbage or incomprehensible), sinks a little further into the (admittedly plush) seats, and turns to look over at Max, one hand gripping the wheel.

"Ready for an adventure, Max?" he asks, Australian accent drawling over the word adventure, and its almost like all the problems between them have already melted and faded away in Daniel's stupid mom car, like this whole outing wasn't occuring because of Max feeling so overwhelmingly alone.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Max smiles back, gripping the handle in the doorframe, "Don't kill me please, Daniel. I don't want to die in a Renault."

Max thinks he probably deserves the flick on the ear he's granted a moment later, but he smiles out his window, watching his flat roll behind them as they head out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't been able to get the thought of Daniel getting some entirely normal company car from Renault to drive, the thought of dude rocking a Clio tickles me....but im from the US...so I really hope you can get a blue diesel Megane otherwise big rip to me  
this is also an incredibly drawn out night- i just start typing and lose all sense of brevity and then i make one dates worth of story into several chapters. apologies for my nonsense

**Author's Note:**

> once i get the next part proofread ill post it. promise that it wont really be getting any angstier from here out but it does get happier!!  
thank you for reading and dropping those kudos on the...things...ive written :)


End file.
